


New York loft hunting, Part II

by glitteredsins, jennandanica



Series: Citadel: Antony Starr and Stephen Amell [122]
Category: Actor RPF, Arrow (TV 2012) RPF, Banshee (TV) RPF, Canadian Actor RPF, Citadel (Journalfen RPG), New Zealand Actor RPF, The Boys (TV 2019) RPF
Genre: BDSM, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-27
Updated: 2019-03-27
Packaged: 2019-12-18 13:59:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,157
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18251273
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glitteredsins/pseuds/glitteredsins, https://archiveofourown.org/users/jennandanica/pseuds/jennandanica
Summary: In Citadel, Antony Starr is an AU (alternate universe) character. He tells people he's an IT Risk Management and Computer Security Consultant (his official cover) but really he's a ex-military, sometimes mercenary, computer hacker and master thief hired by collectors and other ruthless people to steal for them: art, jewels, money, information... Citadel knows Antony's true occupation and he would never target the organization or any of its membership. Through Cit, he's met Stephen Amell (played RL) and fallen hard. This is their story.





	New York loft hunting, Part II

**Author's Note:**

> This is a re-posting (archiving) of all logs for the Antony Starr/Stephen Amell storyline in the BDSM RPS RPG [Citadel](http://citadel.dreamwidth.org/read).

_warnings for both public (Citadel) and private physical and verbal humiliation in the last half of this part_

They meet on the sidewalk. It's cold but not brutally so and Antony nods towards the first of a dozen or so furniture stores in the next couple of blocks. They duck inside, Antony making a bit of a face at the ultra-modern designs inside. They're not his style but he's not really sure whether they're Stephen's when his husband's left to his own devices. Luckily the salespeople are already busy with customers so it leaves them alone to look through the huge open space.

Stephen scans the place: it's all a bit too... designer for his taste. He's much more about comfort and practicality than whether his sofa is cutting edge design in the latest fabric. "Nope, not for me," he shakes his head, nodding back to the door.

"I was thinking the same but I didn't want to say anything," Antony says, making a beeline for the front before one of the salespeople can try and reel them back in. "They'd probably like that grey that's in the loft now."

"I didn't dislike the grey, it was just a bit much for such a small space," Stephen points out as they step back into the cold. "And I just like warmer tones," he laughs then. "Ugh I think I'm letting my gay show huh?" he jokes quietly, head down.

"Only if you plan on painting the place pink," Antony teases, pulling the door to next place open, the lines and colours already appealing more to him the moment they step inside.

"Well, funny you should say that..." Stephen teases, bumping shoulders before straightening to have a look around. "Ahh, better, what about that?" He points to a large leather sofa, in a dark distressed grey. "If we had the walls in a blue?"

"What kind of a blue?" Antony asks, although he likes the sofa.

"Light blue, a grey blue? Not one of those white blues, a proper shade," Stephen wanders around the sofa, trailing his fingers over it. "I like this," he decides, moving around to park his butt in the middle of it.

"How's it feel?" Antony asks, awaiting Stephen's judgement before he tries it out.

"It's good, nice and deep, sprawlable..." Stephen grins up, splaying himself out to give Antony a show. "See!"

Antony laughs. "Move over," he says, nudging at Stephen's legs. "Let me try."

"Bossy!" Stephen pretends to grumble as he shifts his butt across, letting Antony take a seat. As he looks up he notes a sales guy heading their way. "Incoming," he warns out of the side of his mouth.

"Got it," Antony acknowledges, sitting back, his legs spread. "It's comfortable."

"Yeah, comfortable enough? Big enough?" Stephen wriggles around a little.

"Good afternoon gentlemen, how may I help you today?" Glenn smiles at the two men who seem intent on making themselves very comfortable on one of their more expensive leather pieces.

"Hey," Stephen looks up, smiling. "I'm looking to furnish a new place so..." he drawls, waving a hand around.

Glenn simply stares at the man in the baseball cap. "You're Stephen Amell," he blurts out, before giving his head a little shake and clearing his throat. "I'm sorry Sir, I was a little caught off guard there."

Laughing Stephen nods. "Yes I am, and it's okay, kinda flattered. So," he leans in to look at the guy's name tag. "Glenn, this sofa... I like it."

Antony smiles at the guy, keeping quiet for the moment. But he's pretty damn proud at the same time. He's thought for a while that more people recognize his husband than Stephen seems to think.

"Um... okay, I'm sure we can arrange things if you want this particular piece," Glenn nods. "We have others, similar if you'd like to check them out? There is also a footstool that matches, which has storage space inside it." Having recovered himself enough to attempt a level of professionalism. "Are there other things I can help you with today?"

"I think this is the one I like, and yeah a footstool would be great." Mostly because he can just picture Antony using it to bend him over. _Hot._

"Do you want to look at chairs or wait til you're in the place?" Antony asks Stephen. Even if he wants them now, he may not want them from here but Glenn looks awfully eager to help them out.

Glenn's gaze flits between the two men, he wonders who the other man is, probably a friend he concludes.

"I'm not fussed about chairs, one large sofa should be more than enough, I can add to it later if I need," Stephen grins at Antony, well aware he's using a lot of 'I's rather than the more inclusive 'we'.

"So, Glenn," Stephen rolls to his feet. "I need a dining table and a couple of chairs, something in heavy wood, nothing dark, you got something that might fit the bill?"

"Um, yes Sir I think we do," Glenn nods, he waves his hand toward the back of the store. "If you gentlemen would like to follow me."

Antony follows, his hands shoved in his pockets, taking in the rest of the furniture and listening to the patter between his husband and the salesman ahead of him.

Stephen spends a little time looking over a number of tables that Glenn presents him with. "Hey Antony, what about this one?" he asks, running his hand over a simple oak set. "It extends out yeah?" he throws that question at Glenn who nods, his gaze flicking between the two men.

Antony nods. "It's nice. Much warmer than what's in there now."

Stephen nods, thoughtful for a moment. "Okay, Glenn, I'll take this, with just a couple of chairs, the place has a bench style set up so I don't need a full set." He straightens up and tilts his hat back a little. "So... can I get the sofa, a footstool and this then? Not sure on delivery dates yet, might be a month or so, but obviously I'm happy to put in an order and settle up now?"

Glenn grins, "Of course you can Mr Amell, if you'd like to follow me I can sort out the paperwork for you." He trails over to a sales desk and indicates that the two men should sit.

Antony takes a seat and gives his phone a quick check. He's still hoping they might hear from Scott tonight. He smiles at Stephen, the urge there as always to reach out and touch his husband. Nothing sexual, just fuck, touch his hand, his leg, the kind of stuff het couples - and gay couples not in the spotlight - get to do all the time.

Stephen does all the talking, he casts Antony a look now and again.

"So, how would you like to pay?" Glenn looks up, all smiles. He thinks he might just ask for Stephen's autograph once they're done, he seems like a down to earth kinda guy.

"I'm paying," Antony says quietly, pulling out his wallet and handing over one of his credit cards.

Glenn blinks at that, "Oh, okay, that's great." He takes the card, reading the name before slotting it into the machine and punching in the numbers. "And if you'd like to check that?" He hands the machine over to Mr Starr and smiles.

Stephen can't help feeling amused, Glenn's confusion was brief but noticeable. "So, you recognised me, can I assume that you watch my show?"

Glenn nods. "Yeah I do, I love it." He grins at Stephen and his friend. "I wondered if I might get an autograph?"

"Sure, of course, you've been very helpful, and professional, I appreciate that." Stephen leans in. "What would you want me to sign?"

Glenn nudges a piece of paper and a pen in Stephen's direction. "Thank you so much." He takes the card machine back from Stephen's friend. "Thank you."

"You're welcome. Thanks for your help," Antony says, tucking his wallet away. He smiles at both men. "Stephen'll get in touch with you when he figures out the delivery date. There's some security work and painting to be done first."

Having scrawled a message out on the piece of paper for Glenn, Stephen looks up. "Yep," he grins, handing the autograph back. "So," he pushes up, taking his copies of the paperwork. "Thanks man." He offers Glenn his hand and then steps back, letting Antony step aside.

"No, thank you, it was great to meet you." Glenn is all smiles as the two men walk away. He can't wait to tweet the hell out of this on his break.

"You realize he's going to be all over Facebook with how you bought stuff at his store and bought a place in New York," Antony says with a soft laugh as they step back out onto the street.

"Ahh, yeah." Caught up in the excitement of it all - indeed it probably still hasn't sunk in he's just bought a loft - it really hadn't occurred to him. That's something he usually lets Antony think about. "That's okay right?"

"It'll depend on what he writes," Antony says. "General stuff will get through. But if he puts your address or my name or anything else that pings our filters hard, he'll find he can't post it." He grins, quite pleased with himself.

Stephen stops and looks at his husband, not caring about the people walking past them. "Get through what?"

"The filters. He'll be able to post anything general, anything that's harmless," Antony clarifies, pulling up too.

 _Filters._ Stephen had never really stopped to think about what was involved when Antony had talked about 'keeping an eye out' for anything that might pop up about them on the internet. It's another case of him not looking at something that he felt might make him 'see' what Antony really gets up to on his 'trips'. "So... you have a way to scan the internet and block anything about me that's not mundane?" he asks quietly.

"Not just you. Anyone who's a club member," Antony says. "And we don't block everything. That would raise suspicions. So someone can say they think you're gay or that you're buying a place here but if they had an actual picture of us kissing or gave an address, it wouldn't make it through."

"Oh," Stephen finds himself relaxing at that, but it's not lost on him that this shouldn't have put him so on edge so quickly. "So, do you get reports then? If stuff shows up?"

Antony nods. "Sometimes just blocking stuff isn't enough and we have to take further steps. Let a member know what's being said. Give Louis a heads-up if it's club-related..." _Shut someone down who doesn't take the fucking hint._

"And what about posts about me? Us?" He's a feeling Antony wouldn't tell him if there had ever been anything, and he's not sure how he feels about that.

"There were a couple photos from Italy, mostly with us in the background, not anything anyone was posting on purpose, same with New Zealand, but other than that, I get mostly ignored when we're together," Antony says with a laugh, smiling at Stephen. "And when they do notice, people seem happy enough to assume I'm security or a friend."

 _But you're not..._ Stephen nods, and starts walking again, Antony falling in beside him. "There might be speculation about why I'm buying in New York," he points out. "If anyone is actually interested I guess."

Antony shrugs. "There might be. Are you worried about that?"

"I'm caring less and less Tony," Stephen shoves his hands in the pockets of his body warmer and drops his chin a little. "About all of it."

"But your career..." Antony says, suddenly hopeful even as cold logic asserts itself. "The audition. Other roles."

"But my _life_ Tony... living honestly, authentically, as an openly gay man? A married gay man..." Even as he's saying it, panic sets in and the sensible part of Stephen's brain hurries to remind him how much irreparable damage he'd do to the opportunities he might have in the job he loves.

"I know," Antony says and he does. "I would love for that to happen. You know I would. But I don't ever want to give you reason to resent me and if us being together were to fuck up your career?" He shakes his head. "When you're one hundred percent sure or as close to it as you're going to get, I'll support you completely but until then? I'm going to do my very best to make sure no one outside the club and our very close friends knows I'm anything but your security and friend."

Lips pressed tight Stephen nods, well aware Antony is right. "One day..." he says clearly, making them both a promise: that it's not an 'if', but a 'when'.

"I know." Antony smiles. "I'm looking forward to it." He nods at the next store. "Beds and mattresses? I'll stay off them and trust your judgement."

Stephen looks at the store and shakes his head. "Nah, let's go grab a beer huh? I can just order up a bed, same make we have at home." It's a kind of 'fuck it' mood and Stephen's keen to indulge it. "We've achieved enough today, it's time to celebrate."

"Sounds good to me," Antony says, happy to do whatever Stephen wants. "There's a pub on the corner." He'd noticed it when they were dropped off.

"And if I start getting wasted, throw me in a car and take me back to the club to finish the job," Stephen bumps shoulders.

"You afraid you'll start getting all handsy?" Antony teases, bumping back.

"Handsy, mouthy, all the things that will get me into a whole heap of trouble," Stephen's tone is dry, despite the humour. "Better to just take me back to the club, strip me naked and amuse yourself with me in front of the whole bar."

"I thought you didn't want to play in public?" Antony asks, opening the door to the pub. He's happy to take Stephen back to Citadel but he wants them to get one drink in what's technically their new neighbourhood.

"I said amuse yourself, not go for a full blown hardcore humiliation type deal," Stephen retorts, leaning in and lowering his voice as they move into the pub, he swipes the cap off his head and folds it up, tucking it into his back pocket.

"I can behave myself," Antony insists, grinning, signalling the bartender. "You want a beer or scotch?" he asks Stephen.

"Both," Stephen grins. "Celebrating, remember?"

Antony orders two pints of dark and a bottle of Macallan with two glasses and the bartender gruffly waves him away, telling them to find a table and he'll have the waitress bring it over. "Famous New York charm in evidence, I see," Antony murmurs under his breath to Stephen as they head for a booth.

Sliding into the seat, Stephen laughs. "Hey this isn't the sunshine state full of bright smiles and overtly chirpy types," he points out, stuffing his body warmer down between his butt and the seat.

"Are you telling me I made a mistake opening an office here?" Antony kids, eyes crinkling. He really doesn't mind. Stephen sees _him_ smiling more than anyone else. Ever.

"How did you conclude that from what I just said?" Stephen leans in, chin in hand. "I'm nearer home... it's all good for me," he winks.

"That's true and if we keep the downstairs room locked, you could always let your parents stay there when we're not around," Antony suggests, wondering if his own would be any more interested in visiting New York than LA.

"We could," Stephen agrees, though he's not entirely sold on the idea. He looks up when their drinks are delivered and smiles at the waitress, "Thank you." He takes a long drink from his beer and then licks it from his upper lip as he sets the glass down again.

"Of course then we'd have to explain why it's locked," Antony laughs, taking a drink as well. "Do you think they'd believe we're actually really messy and all our extra shit's in there?"

Stephen shrugs. "Hey, if they make the effort to go looking where they aren't supposed to, then they can deal with the consequences." He rubs his thumb along the side of the glass. "To be honest, I'm not comfortable with the idea. There's one bedroom, I don't want my parents sleeping where we... fuck and play."

Antony's a little surprised but it makes little difference to him and Stephen's comfort is all that matters. "That's fine. I didn't even think of that. If they want to come visit, we can put them up in a hotel."

Stephen nods, picks up his glass and takes another long drink, belching softly into his fist when he's done. "So do you know when you're likely to be up and running, the offices open?"

Antony cracks open the bottle of Macallan and pours them each a couple of fingers. "Hopefully within the month," he says. "There's only a few offices and meeting rooms to be created, the rest will be open areas with minimal dividers, the washrooms are already in place, kitchen... some furniture needs to be decided on, reception area set up, some personnel hired but that'll be the easy part."

"And does this mean you really are going to be spending more time in country? At home and here than away?" Stephen lifts the scotch and tilts the glass toward Antony in a half toast.

"That's the plan," Antony says, softly clinking his glass against Stephen's before he takes a drink. "I'll mostly be in LA, occasionally here, anything overseas kept to no more than once a month, if that, and less than a week." He smiles. "You might actually get sick of me."

Stephen doesn't smile in return, he gives a half nod and knocks back half of the scotch in one go. He's very unlikely to ever feel sick of having Antony around, but he's found the see-sawing of emotions caused by the trips away followed by the intense reunions just too much to cope with, he sees that now.

Antony watches Stephen for a moment. "You still don't trust it." It's not an accusation, merely an observation and he certainly can't blame Stephen. He's never promised he'd cut back like he is now but he'd indicated he'd try since fairly early on and it's never panned out. Certainly not after the whole fucking mess with Zoran.

Stephen's jaw ticks for a moment as he considers his answer. In the end he settles for a brief shake of his head and another swallow of scotch.

"I always knew it would be hard on anyone I was with," Antony says quietly. "It's part of the reason I didn't get involved, but I don't think I really realized just how hard, and how hard it would be on me too. I don't like being away from you. Even when you're crazy busy with work, I still get to sleep with you, wake up together, talk to you at some point during the day... I never realized how much I'd miss that."

Stephen looks up in surprise at that. "Yeah?" He huffs out a noise. "Of course you do. I think... it would have been easier if we didn't have the dynamic. But what we have is extremes. Absence then intensity, then absence, it's too much. We've little emotional stability, of course our feelings for each other are always there, underpinning our life together, but the things we share, the depths we push each other to, I think that's what's made it so difficult. Why we miscommunicated when you last came home."

"You think that was a result of things building up?" Antony asks, taking a sip of his scotch.

Eyes down, studying the contents of his glass, Stephen considers not being completely honest; that day, that fuck up, has stuck with him, it was so unlike Antony to behave the way he did, he's played it over and over in his mind. He drains his scotch glass and reaches for the bottle to top up again before answering. "I hope so."

Antony exhales softly. "I think it was just us getting our wires crossed," he says. "And that's going to happen every once in a while. I was exhausted, I was used to coming home and jumping you, and reconnecting that way, and you were... not in the mood because of me being away for so long. I don't blame you and I get it now but in the moment, I felt like I was being rejected and instead of working that out with you like I would have if I hadn't been so tired and fucked up, I pushed you away in return." He pauses, watching Stephen for a moment. "I'm sorry. It was wrong. I knew it the moment the words were out of my mouth. I'm not a passive-aggressive person, you know me, and that wasn't me. It's not how I operate. I was just exhausted beyond belief and lashing out."

"I know that," Stephen looks up, he meets Antony's gaze, wanting nothing more than to reach out and take his husband's hand, to squeeze it and press reassuring kisses to the knuckles, instead he grips his glass tighter. "I know that now," he reassures him again. "In some weird way it made me realise that I've made some progress in finding my spine again, that I didn't just acquiesce to your needs when I needed to speak my own." His smile is a little twisted, not quite reaching his eyes.

Antony nods. "And it made me realize just how much you've been hurting over me being away. How much I need to change that - and that's why I can promise you that all of this, finding the office here, telling you once a month and no more than a week - I _mean_ it. No more waffling, no more you telling me it's okay if I have to... because I don't have to. There's a reason I have good people around me, why I've trained them the way I have... and if there ever comes a point where it seems like I might have to, then you and I have to sit down and decide whether that's really the case, because right now, I can't think of too many instances where there wouldn't be an alternative."

Another healthy swallow and Stephen finds the scotch is loosening his tongue, some part of him wonders if that's a good thing, or a dangerous one. "I think it got harder when I started to be honest with myself about what you're really up to when you're away." His gaze slides away, not quite brave enough to meet Antony's, so much for dutch courage.

Fuck. "How so?" Antony asks, keeping his voice soft, obviously open to talking about this.

"You'd only keep leaving me for a couple of reasons. Money, and it'd have to be a _lot_ of it, given I now know how you stand financially. Or adrenaline. And for someone who has your past in the military, there can't be many things that can provide you with a big enough kick. Then there's the guns, the state you come home in sometimes." Stephen pauses, gaze still lowered, he takes another drink. "The pieces are there, I just haven't wanted to put the jigsaw together to see the truth."

"And now?" Antony asks. "Have you put it all together? Does it change how you feel about me?"

"Have I? Not really, I keep backing away from it. Does it change how I feel?" Now he lifts his gaze to meet Antony's. "Never bring it to our door. Never let that spill over into us. And I would marry you again tomorrow in a heartbeat."

"The job before last? That was me making sure it doesn't touch us and this last one? That was a favour owed. But I'm all settled up now," Antony says, letting his fingers brush across the back of Stephen's hand, his eyes pricking with moisture. "You're what I need now. You and me and our life together. I don't have to go halfway across the world to find anything anymore."

 _I'm enough. I'm finally enough for someone._ Stephen leans in, "You really do mean it." He studies Antony's face for a moment. "Wow."

"I do," Antony says softly but firmly. "You're everything to me."

"What were you looking for? Before me? You said you don't have to go halfway across the world any more." Stephen tops up Antony's glass and nudges it back toward him, taking a drink of his own. His head is starting to buzz, and he knows he's talking about things now he'd hesitate to broach whilst stone cold sober.

Antony hadn't meant to say it. Has always maintained he was content with his life before he met Stephen. But here, now, he knows - has known for a while - he was full of shit. "Happiness," he says finally with a soft shrug, after thinking a moment. "The meaning of life." He smiles. He doesn't quite have the words for it. Just knows that _something_ was missing before Stephen and that all his jobs, all his... acquisitions... were just part of his searching for something to fill that unacknowledged emptiness. And he'd never even guessed it was not something but _someone_ he needed.

Stephen's brows go up, "And that was me?"

Antony chuckles and nods. "You were the missing piece, you made everything come together, my restlessness settle," he shrugs again. "I just realized that if I were to let everything else go and settle down in the middle of nowhere with you and just live our day to day lives, I'd be happy. Really, truly happy. That I wouldn't need anything else." He laughs again, softly, amused by his own words. "I know that's not going to happen. You have your career and I have mine and we're not about to go off the grid completely, ever, but you're my center, my home, and all I want is to make you happy."

Stephen's eyes fill with tears at that, he dips his head and quickly scrubs at his eyes. "I um," he stops, clears his throat and tries again. "I thought it was me that had been missing a piece, that you were this guy who had his shit together, and that I was simply the icing on your cake."

Antony grins. "I _did_ have my shit together. I just didn't realize my shit needed your shit to really be complete." He leans in. "I love you," he says softly. "And I thank my lucky stars every day not only that I met you but that I was open to seeing just how amazing you are and how good we'd be together. Not just sexually, but in every way."

Another swallow of scotch and Stephen keeps his head down, not wanting anyone beyond Antony to see his face. "When we met, when you agreed to be my Sir... was that all you thought we'd be? A D/s dynamic, or did you know from the start it would be more, that we'd be partners too?" For him, at least at the start, Stephen had thought he'd bagged himself a new dominant, with possible dating benefits, hadn't considered for a while that Antony might be his life partner.

"Hm. That's a hard one," Antony says with a quick glance around, making sure no one's listening in. "I never thought it would be just a D/s dynamic. I wouldn't have been interested in that." He pauses, thinking it through. "I knew you were different, that I wanted more from you." He grins. "I wanted to take you to Fiji and be your boyfriend, not only your Sir, but I fell for you pretty quickly after that, which was a really weird feeling for me, being that vulnerable, on that end of things for once."

"And here we are, not even a year later," Stephen shakes his head. "It's all happened so fast, the last year has been this insane whirlwind with you at the centre of it all."

Antony nods. "But it's been good, yeah? Even with the few bumps here and there?"

"It's been amazing," Stephen nods, smiling, he lifts his glass again and tips it toward Antony. "But can we slow down a little this year? Enjoy the ride huh?"

Antony laughs. "We can try. Especially after this," he says, gesturing around them in general, meaning New York and offices and lofts and all entailed. "Although I still want our beach house. Someplace we can get away from everything and everyone for a few days whenever we want."

"Agreed," Stephen knocks back the last of his scotch and eyes the bottle, half of him wishing Antony might moderate him, because Stephen, right now, is all about getting drunk.

"You want to head back to the club?" Antony asks, watching Stephen eye the Macallan. "We don't have to finish that and much more and you might start groping me in public," he says, eyes crinkling.

"The fact that my first thought to that was 'fuck em' means you're probably right," Stephen acknowledges this truth with a smile, nudging his empty glass away with the tips of his fingers. "That mean I can continue this at the club and molest you there instead?"

Antony grins. "Yes." He motions to their waitress for the bill and settles it with a nice large tip.

Stephen tugs his cap back on when he steps back out into the street, Antony half a step behind him. Stephen glances over his shoulder. "Cab? Or you calling for a car?"

"Cab this time," Antony says, raising his hand to wave one down. It'll be faster.

Stephen actually sits on his hands when they climb into the cab Antony had waved down. He smiles at his lover, before turning his attention to the streets outside, streets that will become familiar very soon indeed.

Antony gives the driver the cross streets for the club and settles back, attention flickering between his husband and the streets outside. He glances at his phone, frowning that they still haven't heard from Scott on the second property and quickly responds to a text from Marcus. Which reminds him: they still owe his right hand man a dinner invitation. Which is not something he's going to bring up right now in the back of a cab. "This is it here," he tells the driver as they draw up to the corner. He pays the man and slides out of the car, closing the door behind Stephen.

"C'mon," Stephen sets off for the club, determined to get inside so he can relax. "We heading to the bar?" He hopes so, he still wants to celebrate, enjoy drinking in a safe, discreet space.

"Yup," Antony agrees happily, giving the security on gate a nod and a smile. He'd have to flash his ID too but the man recognizes him and nods them through. It's getting chilly, the sun of the early afternoon setting, and he's looking forward to the warmth of the bar's fireplace, another bottle of scotch and being able to touch Stephen.

Fifteen minutes later and Stephen is settling beside Antony on a large leather couch, they're near the fire, and there's a fresh bottle of scotch on the small table in front of them. Divested of his body warmer, hoodie, cap and boots, Stephen pours them both a healthy glass full before sprawling out. "How did my life get this fucking amazing?"

"You met me," Antony suggests with a devilish grin.

Stephen turns to look at his husband, one brow raised, there's a moment's pause before he bursts out laughing. "You are not wrong, darling man," he nods, leaning in to press a kiss to his husband's mouth.

Antony groans softly into the kiss, one hand coming up to cup the back of Stephen's neck and deepen it. It already feels like far too long since he last got to do this.

Stephen opens his mouth, allows Antony to take what he wants, his eyes slip closed and he hums his pleasure, only breaking away when he realises he's about to tip his drink over.

"I did promise to let you get drunk, didn't I?" Antony murmurs, sitting back again, watching Stephen, his eyes for his husband alone.

"Yeah," Stephen nods, lifting his glass in salute before taking a drink. "So long as one, I get to be all handsy with you, and two, you take full advantage of me." His eyes twinkle in amusement, as he sits back, body open, arms spread over the back of the couch. If were anyone else it might look like Stephen was displaying himself.

Antony grins. "Such hardship... but yeah, I can agree to your terms." One hand laid on Stephen's leg, just above his knee. "Do they have to go in that order?"

Pretending to consider that Stephen shrugs lightly. "Depends, because you taking full advantage of me usually ends up with me naked, beaten and covered in semen..." He says it loud enough that a man, passing their spot turns to look, his brows rising. Stephen simply grins, lifts his glass again and turns to look at Antony. "And if that happens first then... the drunk and the handsy are kinda defunct."

"True," Antony says with a smile as he drains his glass, fingers rubbing over the inseam of Stephen's jeans. "So I'll behave for now," he promises, eyes crinkling.

"Hmm," Stephen grins, shifting his thighs a little further apart. He turns his attention to the rest of the room, his gaze moving over small groups of people, a single guy sat at the bar, taking it all in. Usually when he's in any Citadel bar his attention is fixed firmly on Antony, his Sir and he rarely gets the chance to be the voyeur rather than the object of other people's attention.

"There's one of them," Antony says with a smile, nodding towards a tall good-looking guy in a business suit who's just entered the room. He leans forward, hand still on Stephen's thigh, and refills his glass. "He hit on me last night."

Stephen watches the man move to take a table then wave over a waiter, oddly he only feels mild amusement, surprising even himself. He'd expected a small stab of something, but then maybe their conversation in the bar, the very open heart to heart, has made him feel particularly secure right now. "Did you turn him down flat? Or did you entertain him for a little while?" Stephen asks the question without taking his gaze from the other man.

"I flirted a little," Antony admits. "But I didn't string him along for too long before I told him I wasn't interested."

"Flirted huh?" Stephen takes a drink and turns his gaze back on his husband. "You didn't flirt with me when you picked me up, you just got straight down to business," he teases, the whiskey creating a pool of warmth in the pit of his belly.

"Because I wanted you," Antony says, fingers moving slightly higher on Stephen's thigh. "I was very goal-oriented."

"You're always goal-oriented," Stephen huffs out a laugh, shifting a little under Antony's touch, his cock is starting to thicken, and there'll be no hiding it soon enough.

"True. But last night I couldn't stop thinking about you being here today. Nothing - and no one - competes with that," Antony says, although he does give the poor guy a nod when he looks their way, relief flashing across the man's features at the realization Antony wasn't just putting him off. There _is_ a boy and there he is.

"Hmm, and do you fantasise about me?" Stephen's head drops back against the couch and he turns to look at his lover, his hips shifting up into that touch just a little more. "When we're apart? Do you masturbate and think about me?"

"Yes and yes." Antony grins, sliding his fingers still higher.

"What do you think about? Hurting me?" Sliding his hand down, Stephen pops the button on his jeans, eases the zipper down and sliding his hand in to cup himself. The empty glass still clutched in his other hand.

Antony nods. "Hurting you, fucking you, fisting you..." he murmurs, gaze flickering between Stephen's hand and his face.

For a brief moment Stephen had expected some censure from his Sir at touching himself so overtly here in public, but Antony's gaze seems heated rather than censorious. The words however have his dick twitching against his palm, it's been weeks since Antony put his hand inside him, ever since they'd taken a step back from the kink. At first Stephen hadn't missed it, but now... now he's starting to think about the things they've been abstaining from.

Antony continues, "Sometimes I don't jerk off though. Not if I'm coming home in the next day or two. I save it. Fantasize about breeding my cunt."

The whimper spills from Stephen's mouth before he's even aware he's made a noise, he squeezes his cock then suddenly leans forward to set his glass down. When he turns his gaze back to Antony it's full of anticipation, the submissive in Stephen right there, wanting to please, to be directed. So much for Antony behaving.

"And here I thought you were going to be getting handsy with me..." Antony teases in that same low murmur.

"You cheated," Stephen accuses softly, he reaches down, fingers catching the edges of his sweater, which he pulls up and off. Bare chested now Stephen opens his arms, purposefully displaying himself for his Sir's appreciation.

"I guess I did," Antony admits, running a hand over Stephen's chest and abs, the muscles tight, perfectly sculpted... fuck. His cock's already thickening and he lets his fingers trail lower, slipping into Stephen's jeans, cupping his boy the way Stephen had earlier. "What about you? What do you fantasize about when we're parted?"

Licking over his lower lip Stephen glances down at where Antony's fingers have disappeared inside his shorts. "Sucking your cock, because I can taste you, smell you... looking up at you when you fuck me, meeting your gaze, and boots, I always think about your boots." Stephen's cast-iron bullet-proof kink.

"We haven't done that in a while," Antony says, wrapping his fingers around Stephen's cock and stroking him lightly. "Let you get your mouth on my boots."

Stephen moans softly, his eyes closing for a brief moment. "No Sir... but boy is not wearing his slave collar, has not been..." he pauses to swallow hard, "...has not earned that." Where his hands rest on the soft leather of the couch, his fingers press deep as he tries to keep still.

"Do you want to?" Antony asks, pulling Stephen's cock free of his jeans, fingers teasing at the ring piercing the crown. "Do you want to earn my boots when we go home, boy?"

"Yes Sir, please," Stephen nods, his gaze fixed on Antony's face. "Boy will never say no to that."

"That's good. I'd be worried about you if my boots weren't of interest," Antony says, tugging lightly on the ring. "If you didn't get want to get your mouth on them... clean them for me..."

"Oh fuck..." Sensory memory provides Stephen with the taste, the flavour of the leather on his tongue, the scent of Antony, his Sir's arousal. "I want that, please..." he mumbles, he feels his cock twitch in response to the pull on the jewellery there, he's sure he's just coated Antony's fingers with a spurt of precum.

"Show me how much," Antony says, giving the ring a harder tug. "Give me your mouth, boy."

Stephen nods, he moves, shuffling on the couch until he's sprawled out, his head in Antony's lap, his fingers tugging on a zipper, freeing swollen needy flesh. "I want you, I want this, I need to taste you, Sir..." It's not like Stephen to verbalise like this, but he does here, moments before he opens his mouth and sucks down the damp crown.

Christ. Antony sinks his fingers into Stephen's short hair, a shudder running through him at the wet heat of his boy's mouth, at the need behind his words. "That's it. Good boy."

All the noise of the bar falls away, all Stephen is aware of is Antony. His Sir's body, the small pleasure noises, the scent, the heat of him. He slowly works his way down Antony's thick shaft, taking more and more, working his throat open to give his Sir everything.

Watching Stephen work to take all of him, every last inch, Antony's breath hitches hard, a rough groan spilling from his lips. He's torn. He wants to come inside his boy, fuck him open in front of everyone in here, but this, Christ, this is so fucking good.

Humming, Stephen lifts his head, he's going to make this a wet and wicked blow job, his saliva glistens along the whole length of his Sir's penis, swirling his tongue over the slit he opens up once more to suck all the way down again.

Antony's hand slips from the back of Stephen's head to the nape of his neck, fingers curling over his day collar. His hips rise, rock, pushing his cock as deep as he can, the groans welling up from deep in his chest, pleasure thrumming through his frame, his balls starting to draw up.

Shifting, his head tilted to allow Antony as much of his throat as his dick needs, Stephen continues to work the rigid flesh, sucking, swirling his tongue, growling greedily as if Antony's orgasm was for his pleasure rather than his Sir's. One hand, braced on Antony's thigh, kneads the muscle, willing his Sir to cum and gift him his reward.

Another few minutes of Stephen's working his cock like that and Antony doesn't have a hope in hell of holding out. Nor does he really want to. His boy's growls, his obvious need and desire, spur Antony's arousal, heighten his pleasure. Shove him over the edge with a loud ragged groan, his seed hot and thick.

Swallowing it all down, Stephen murmurs soft noises of contentment, his submissive need to please has been attended to, at least for now. He cleans Antony with his tongue, and when he's done, he turns onto his back, splayed out over the couch, his head in Antony's lap. He smiles up at his Sir, eyes a little glazed over, his lips still damp.

Antony smiles down at Stephen, stroking his fingers through his boy's hair. "You look like the proverbial cat," he murmurs, eyes crinkling.

"That's because I am," Stephen replies, stretching out and wriggling a little, his own cock still visible in the folds of his open jeans, Antony's laying wet and still swollen against his belly.

Antony grins. "Is that enough for now?" he asks, sliding his hand down Stephen's bare chest again, fingers headed towards those open jeans. "Or would you like your reward?"

"I'd actually like to wait," Stephen tips his face back to look up fully. "Because I'm pretty sure that you're going to fuck me later, I'd like to wait until then. That?" He turns his head to nuzzle Antony's groin. "Was me needing to please... and I did."

"Very much so," Antony says with a smile, his cock giving a twitch. "And you're definitely getting fucked later so I'm happy to wait, but I want to do some serious play with that soon," he adds, nodding at the piercing adorning Stephen's cock.

"Serious?" Stephen's brows rise and he reaches down to cover Antony's hand with his own. "What do you have in mind?" His Sir has been very patient since he pierced it, and now it's fully healed... yeah Stephen's intrigued as what Antony has planned.

Antony chuckles. "I just mean focused. I want to touch it, pull on it, get my mouth on it more... maybe attach it to some nipple clamps or do some e-stim..." Okay, so maybe he meant serious after all. "We need to change the gauge on it too. Which is something we could we do while we're here."

"Okay yeah," Stephen nods, his cock twitching at the suggestions. "I'd... I'd like that." Huh, now Stephen has the mental image of Antony's mouth on his cock... _fuck_.

"Which? All of it, or changing the gauge?" Antony asks with a pretty good idea of exactly what kind of effect his words had on his boy.

"Um." Brow furrowed as he tries to concentrate Stephen tries to think that through, though in the end he simply settles for, "Your mouth and the gauge." Shifting a little he reaches down to tuck his dick away.

"Don't do that," Antony orders softly. "I want you on display. My cock, my ring."

Those words, in that tone, simply heighten Stephen's arousal. He reaches back into his jeans and scoops his cock out again, pushing the denim a little further down his hips. "Sorry Sir."

Antony nods. "That's better," he murmurs. "And I see my friend from last night is quite appreciative..." along with a number of others, all showing various levels of discretion.

Stephen trails his fingers up from his groin, over his abs, his pecs to his collar. "I'm not interested in him and his opinion, or any of them. I'm only here to please you, to have you appreciate me."

"Good boy," Antony praises, the words definitely what he wants to hear from Stephen. "But I must admit, I like showing you off, seeing them lust after what they can't have, what I _own_."

"Then show me off by all means," Stephen waves his hand around. "I am yours to do with as you wish."

"Take your jeans off," Antony orders.

"Yes Sir." The words spill without thought as Stephen pushes up to shove his jeans and shorts down his legs and off. He lays back down, sprawled out in all his naked glory, his head still resting in Antony's lap like a treasured pet.

"You are so fucking beautiful," Antony murmurs, trailing a hand over Stephen's chest and abs.

"Thank you Sir," Stephen watches Antony's face, watches as his Sir's expression changes as he looks up to meet the gaze of others in the room.

It's certainly not the most spectacular of shows but Stephen looks like a god, sculpted in marble, every muscle and inch of skin painstakingly perfect. Which means most eyes are on them. Antony slides his hand lower, fingers teasing along Stephen's cock, brushing his piercing. A definite gleam in his eye as he meets the gaze of their audience. _Mine._

Those knowing fingers and their teasing touch is steadily turning Stephen on a whole heap more than the slow simmering need he had going on minutes ago. That and the way his Sir is looking entirely too pleased with himself... fuck. Turning his face, Stephen starts to nuzzle at Antony's damp and semi erect cock, sniffing to fill his nose with his owner's sex scent, his hand comes up and slips under Antony's top, nudging it up so he can press his mouth to the hair dusted skin of his belly. For Stephen, there is no one else in the room.

Antony makes a soft sound of pleasure and tugs on Stephen's piercing. "Knees up, boy. Let them see my cunt."

Drawing his knees up, Stephen lets one leg fall off the edge of the couch, the other he lifts, setting his ankle over the back, fully displaying his genitals and his ass for anyone who wants to see. His fingers still playing over Antony's torso.

"Good boy." Antony gives the piercing another tug then slides his hand lower, cupping and squeezing Stephen's balls, his own cock giving a jerk. "As soon as I get hard again, I'm going to have you fuck yourself on my cock. Slowly, working yourself to the edge over and over, and when we both can't stand it anymore, I'll take you upstairs so I can get rid of the condom and come in your cunt. Breed you like the bitch you are."

"Boy won't take long," Stephen murmurs, tipping his head back to look up at his Sir. Antony's words having pushed him firmly into subspace, the haziness in his eyes giving him away, as does the sticky precum that spills from his penis onto Antony's fingers.

"Will you be able to stop when I tell you?" Antony asks, tearing open a sachet of lube and slicking his fingers.

"Yes." The reply is automatic, and it takes a moment for Stephen to reconsider his answer and then offer, his voice lower. "Boy will always try his best Sir."

"Good. That's all I ask," Antony says, which is true. At least this time. Hand still cupping Stephen's balls, he strokes lower, rubbing over his boy's hole. Teasing him open.

Stephen offers up his noises as his Sir so very wickedly preps him in what is essentially foreplay, he bites his lower lip, shifting up the couch, his hands grabbing at anything to keep himself in position. "Oh fuck... fuck I love you," he whimpers, "being your boy, your toy, I love it all..."

It's what Antony needs to hear, after all the stuff they've been through lately, all the uncertainty and drawing back. He _needs_ to hear Stephen wants this too, that they're equal partners in this, giving and taking, both meeting and matching each other's needs and desires. "Me too," he murmurs, not caring who hears them. "I love it, you, this. Love being your Sir. Taking you apart bit by bit..." his fingers crooked to stroke over that bundle of nerves inside his boy. "All the way, before I put you back together again."

"Please..." Stephen pleads. "Please may boy have your cock Sir? Please... he needs to fill his cunt, to please you, to be a good toy for his Sir..."

Antony pulls his fingers free of Stephen's body. "Go ahead. Ride me, boy, nice and slow."

While Stephen pulls himself up, Antony rolls a condom on his erection, he can hear people murmuring, catching snippets of comments being made. '...wow..' or '..fuck that's gonna hurt...' He's normalised Antony's size to himself, and only here, when he's reminded, does he appreciate just how 'blessed' his husband is in the dick department. "Facing Sir, or facing out?" he asks softly, his skin itching to be pressed back against his Sir's heat.

"Facing out," Antony responds, settling back, his eyes on Stephen.

Turning his back to his Sir, Stephen moves to set his feet either side of Antony's, he lowers himself down, scooping his junk up with one hand so he can reach between his thighs to steady Antony's cock as he drops down onto it. Keeping his eyes lowered, Stephen's not ready to raise his gaze to see who is watching, he needs to push himself to that, to allow the shame to wash over him at how greedy he is for his Sir's cock.

Antony blows out a breath as Stephen sinks down. Spreading his boy's cheeks with his thumbs, he watches his cock slowly disappear inside Stephen's lubed up hole, the heat making his head swim. "Good boy. That's it," he murmurs, aware of the whisperings around them. "You take it all."

Stephen grunts as he bottoms out, stilling for the space of a few breaths to allow his body to adjust to the intense feeling of fullness. Then, setting his hands on Antony's knees, he lifts his head, slowly opens his eyes and stares straight ahead as he lifts back up again to start fucking himself on his Sir's cock.

"Christ." Antony groans, nails digging into Stephen's skin, watching his cock disappear again and again. "You feel so fucking good."

Precum spills from Stephen's cock, dripping in a long sticky string. His skin has flushed, turning his chest and throat dark crimson as he works himself on his Sir. He accidentally meets the eye of an older man watching him and dips his head suddenly, his face flushing. His shame making him both squirm and burn hotter for this act of sexual submission.

Antony notes the drop of Stephen's head, the flush spreading over his upper back and shoulders. "Look at them," he urges, reaching around to grasp Stephen's cock, fingers plucking at his piercing as he works him. "Show them how proud you are to be my bitch, to be able to take every fucking inch of my cock."

Stephen does as he's told, his head snaps up, and he makes a point of meeting the gaze of the man nearest to him, he holds that gaze as he fucks himself on Antony's cock, his jaw set, he lets that man see it all, an odd moment of intimacy with a complete stranger.

Having already come earlier, Antony's in no rush to find his release now. His feet planted against the floor, he meets every drop with a lift of his hips, burying himself deep in his boy as he jerks Stephen off, tugging at the ring between strokes.

"Sir," Stephen half turns his head to be sure Antony can hear him, he's mindful of what his Sir had said when they started this, of wanting to 'breed him' and finish inside of Stephen rather than condom. "Boy is close, boy is starting to struggle." It's clear enough, of all the things they do, orgasm control has always been the one thing that Stephen sometimes struggles with, and he's not about to let his Sir down here, not in front of their small, but very intent audience.

"Then let's head up," Antony says, releasing his hold on Stephen's cock. "Sorry, folks. Show's over. I want to breed my boy and I can't do it down here."

 _I want to breed my boy._ Antony's words invoke a physical response from Stephen, the humiliation of his Sir telling all these people he's about to be 'bred', to have his cunt filled with his Sir's semen, has Stephen's cock pulsing a warning shot of precum as he slides off Antony's cock. He straightens up, shoulders back, head up, eyes lowered, aware that if he were to be anything less than perfect here, it would reflect on Antony and he's not about to let that happen.

There's some murmurs of disappointment, a few comments about wishing they could join them, one man wanting to see Stephen take a few loads... the last gets the guy a look that shuts him up immediately. _My_ boy, it says clearly. Antony disposes of the condom, bundles Stephen's clothes under one arm. A path clears and Antony leads Stephen to the elevators, pushing him against the back wall as soon as the door opens, kissing him roughly.

Mewling into the kiss Stephen's hands come up, his fingers caught in the warm fabric of Antony's top. "I need you," he pleads as he breaks for air, "I need you. Please Sir, please, boy's cunt is aching, boy needs his Sir, his Master to use him, breed him, please, please..." The begging is heart felt, Stephen's whole body is vibrating in need.

Antony groans. He plucks the keycard from his pocket and holds it up to Stephen. "The faster you get us in the room, the faster I get my cock in your cunt..." he says, the elevator opening right on cue.

Plucking the card from Antony's hand Stephen nods to show he's understood. He steps past his Sir out into the hall and makes for their room, he doesn't run, but his strides are long and purposeful, his cock slapping his belly with each step. Swiping the card he pushes the door open stepping inside to hold it open for Antony to move past him.

Antony moves the chair away from the desk. Beds are all fine and dandy but for this, tonight, he wants something different. "Brace yourself, boy."

Stepping up to the desk, Stephen sets his hands against it. pushes his ass out. Feet set wide to make sure he can keep his balance. "Please," he murmurs one last time.

Fuck. Antony considers stripping down, but one look at his boy's already swollen gaping cunt and to hell with it. He steps up, rubbing the head of his cock over the already slicked flesh and slowly pushes in.

"Fuck yes..." Stephen hisses out, his fingers pressing tight against the dark wood of the desk. "Thank you..." He bears down, allowing Antony to seat himself fully in one long thrust. "Use boy, humiliate boy, please?"

"You mean like telling you you're my bitch, my fuck-toy, my plaything, made to be fucking bred and bred again until the come's running out of you..." Antony growls softly, fucking Stephen slowly, in long hard thrusts.

"Yes! Thank you..." Stephen's head drops down to hang between his shoulders, his eyes closed as he concentrates on the feel of his Sir at his back, at the fullness of being fucked. "Sir's fuck toy..."

"You were made for this," Antony continues, spreading Stephen's cheeks with his hands and moving in deeper. "Made for my cock, my come... Christ, look at that cunt," he breathes, pulling out all the way, eyes locked on the way Stephen's hole gapes, begging to be filled again. "Greedy, filthy little bitch."

Stephen whimpers at the loss of his Sir's cock, his hips tilt up, his body begging, his hole fluttering greedily. "Please!!! Sir... Master, boy needs to be fucked... pleasepleaseplease..." All kinds of desperate Stephen mixes up his honorifics, forgetting that for Antony, 'Master' is all about his own pleasure and is not concerned for his slave's needs.

"Fucked?" Antony's smile turns wicked. He's aware of the mixed honorifics but they're still too new to reintroducing this kind of kink for him to want to push on that front. But that doesn't mean he won't push, period. "That mean I could just give you my fingers... my fist... some random toy from the cupboards..."

Stephen's shoulders drop. "Please... boy needs his Sir's cock, he was made to be the hole that cock fits best, please Sir? Fuck your pig with your cock, fill him with cum and piss..." He's trembling now, his whole body taut with the burning need to have his Sir use him, fuck him, find pleasure in filling him.

"You think you deserve that?" Antony whispers, driving home again as he bends over Stephen again, fucking him slowly, shallowly. "Being filled with my cum, my piss, being my fuck pig, my bitch..."

"Yes Sir, boy has been good, boy behaved, boy performed as requested in the bar..." His hands slip on the wood, sweat making his grip loosen, he steadies himself, bracing in case Antony decides he _has_ earned the fucking he's begging for. "Boy was made for his Sir... no one else..."

"Sir agrees," Antony nods, his hips starting to pick up pace. "But after I come in your cunt, you're going to stand here and let it drip out of you and then make sure you get every last fucking drop. You understand me, boy?"

"Yes Sir!" Swallowing hard, his face flushing at the thought of just letting Sir's cum trickle out, knowing Sir will watch him being so base and dirty. "Thank you Sir..." Eyes closed once more, skin sheened in sweat, Stephen works back into each thrust, meeting his Sir's hips with each thrust.

"Good boy," Antony murmurs. "You're my good little bitch, my fuck pig, my come dump," his hips snapping, punctuating the names, driving in hard, balls fucking deep with every thrust.

Stephen's finding his own arousal is starting to spike again, he wants to reach down and pinch the base of his cock, but he dare not without permission. Precum spills from his penis and he's sure he's not far off shooting a warning shot. "Please... boy is close Sir, boy can't hold out much more."

"If you can come without being touched, you've got permission," Antony tells him, his own orgasm right there, just waiting for his boy to pull him over.

"Just need..." He shifts his ass, angling himself so that Antony's dick slides harder against his prostate then he grunts. "...that..." Working back one more time, Stephen lets himself go, stops thinking, stops _being_ , he simply reacts... his cock kicks once and his ass contracts hard around Antony's penis.

Antony shouts, following Stephen over in an instant, his cock pulsing hot and thick, flooding his boy's cunt with his seed.

Keening out a noise, Stephen's face is screwed up tight, his teeth bared as if in pain. But it's not pain he's experiencing, it's exquisite pleasure: physical pleasure, mental pleasure that he knows he's pleased his Sir. As soon as he comes back to himself, enough to be present, Stephen rights himself, correcting his posture even as his cock drips onto the floor beneath him.

"Good boy," Antony murmurs, pressing a kiss to Stephen's shoulder before he eases out with a soft hiss. "You can stay there until you've completed your task." And with that he moves away to the bar, pouring himself another scotch.

"Yes Sir," Stephen resists the urge to turn around to watch Antony, but he's very aware of the noises his husband makes as he moves around behind him. When the tickle starts he has to resist the urge to reach around as his Sir's cum trickles from his asshole, running down the back of his thigh.

"Look at you," Antony says, settling in a large armchair with his drink. "Come running out of your cunt... so fucking dirty..."

Stephen leans back over the desk, his arms folded, his cheek set on his forearm, he shuffles his legs apart just a touch more, knowing that this position will allow Antony an unhindered view of his battered, puffy, semen drenched hole. "M'dirty for you, only for you," he states, forcing himself to be clear, when all he wants to do is close his eyes and float on the buzz he's got going on.

"I know you are," Antony affirms, sipping at his scotch, his gaze hot on the utterly debauched sight in front of him. "You're mine, every inch of you, my bitch to breed, my fuck toy to use, my pig to debase, my cunt to wreck..."

"And..." Stephen licks his lips before continuing. "...slave, boy is slave?" He _almost_ manages to say it without making it sounding like a question, almost, but not quite, like he needs Antony to state the truth of it before he can be sure.

"Yes." Antony nods, even though Stephen can't see it. "Boy is most definitely slave. Owned by his Master." Hoping it's the right thing to say, that it doesn't set them back again.

There's a moment, almost as if Stephen is waiting to react badly to the word, but he doesn't, instead it adds something new, something undefinable to his head space. His shoulders settle a little more and he bares down to allow another blob of cum to slide from his body onto the floor. He moans softly at the feeling, knowing Sir, _Master_ is appreciating him being so dirty.

"Good slave," Antony says, smiling, his scotch set down and his phone picked up. "Keep your head down. Master wants a few pictures of this." He slides forward on the chair, taking one of Stephen from the back, the whole line of his body, the slick trail down the back of his thigh and the growing mess on the floor. And then another, closer, Stephen's swollen cunt, Antony's semen dripping from it.

"Is boy done? Should boy clean up now?" Stephen asks, not having moved a muscle. He's more than ready to be touched and to touch again, to seek out the warmth and scent of his Master's body.

"Go ahead," Antony nods.

"Thank you," Stephen pushes up and turns before taking a step back and dropping to his knees. Hands placed either side of the mess he's made on the floor Stephen leans in swipes his tongue through the cold globs, he sucks it up, ignoring the slimy feel of it in his mouth, concentrating instead on the knowledge this is what his Sir and Master wants from him.

Antony's cock jerks as he watches. He's already come twice but he'd be hard again if he could be, the way this turns him on. "Good boy," he says finally. "You've done a good job."

Stephen makes damned sure the floor is clean before he sits up, his ass on his heels, his hands on his thighs, palm up. He lifts his head to look at Antony. "Sir," he offers, then, more quietly he adds, "Master."

"Good boy. You make me proud," Antony says, reaching out to cup Stephen's cheek. "When we get home - you can decide when - you can have my boots. You've earned them."

A blink of surprise and Stephen's chin drops for a moment. "Thank you Sir, thank you very much," he takes a moment then he reaches out to touch Antony's knee. "Can boy earn his collar back yet?"

"I didn't know you wanted it back," Antony says softly.

Stephen's brows draw together and he lifts his chin to meet Antony's gaze. "Neither did I," he admits.

"Do you need some time to think about it?" Antony asks.

"Do you?" Stephen returns, his fingers tighten on Antony's knee.

Antony shakes his head. "Not at all," he says firmly, without hesitation.

Shuffling closer, so he can set his forehead on Antony's knee, Stephen closes his eyes. Lets Antony's surety, his confidence, wash over him, soothe him. "Please, Sir. May boy, may _I_ have my collar back?"

"You may," Antony nods, placing a hand on Stephen's head, his chest going tight. "As soon as we get home."

Tension, that he wasn't aware he was holding onto, leaves Stephen in that moment. His shoulders drop and he exhales against the fabric of Antony's pants. "Thank you." He's aware that they'll need to talk, reaffirm some expectations and boundaries, but that's not for now, but later.

"You're welcome," Antony says softly, tears in his eyes which he quickly blinks away. There'd been a part of him worried Stephen would never want it back, and although he'd been prepared to accept that, knowing he doesn't have to, he's so fucking relieved. "I love you so much," he whispers. "Let's go to bed."

Nodding under Antony's hand, Stephen lifts his head. "I want to curl around you, just you and me."


End file.
